


Someplace Secret

by rhythmicroman



Category: Ib (Video Game), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Also on Quotev, Alternate Universe - Human, Chara is a girl, Female Chara, Flowey Is A Dick, Gen, Genderless Frisk, Ghosts, Girl Chara, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mild Language, Non-Binary Frisk, Non-binary Reader - Freeform, POV Second Person, Reader Is Frisk, Reader-Insert, can be seen as sans/frisk but not implied, frisk is ib, genderless reader, heavily altered, inspired by 'Darkside' (book), lots of children crying, mild body horror, sans is garry, someone give these babies a hug, undertale characters with the ib story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 21:08:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7190519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhythmicroman/pseuds/rhythmicroman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Come down below, Chara. We'll show you someplace secret.'</p><p> That isn't your name.</p><p>[ALSO ON QUOTEV, HERE: https://www.quotev.com/story/8060324/Someplace-Secret ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Come Down Below, Chara

**Author's Note:**

> Ib x Undertale crossover  
> First created here: https://www.quotev.com/ThatxDorkxLionsaurus/activity/297141457  
> Yes, that's my account. Feel free to follow me if you want.  
> Or don't. I don't mind. =)
> 
> CHARACTERS:  
> Ib = Frisk/Reader  
> Garry = Sans (angsty opportunities~)  
> Mary = Chara (psychopathic child...? yep, check, that's done)
> 
> Some of the Undertale backstory will be thrown in, too.  
> Asriel was destroyed when Chara tried to escape, and she rebuilt him into Flowey.
> 
> Chara is a female, but Frisk/reader are genderless. (read the tags)
> 
> One word is changed from the Quotev version. One. Word.

You don't like it, up here.

The mountainside is so steep, and you’ve heard stories about it. When you were just a little kid, your siblings would tell you stories about monsters inside. About the architecture coming alive and grabbing you, gripping your wrists and your ankles and pulling you down, down, to set them free.

So you stay very close to your mother, and father, and grasp for their hands. They smile softly at you.

Your name is Frisk. You have neck-length brown hair, and crimson red eyes. You self-consciously check your striped polo for wrinkles, and straighten your shorts. Your socks are already rolling down. Your mother tuts at you and pulls them up for you, a gentle smile on her face.

“Come now, Frisk. Have you got your handkerchief?”

You feel in your pocket, and nod. The handkerchief is a soft green silk, with little yellow flowers embroidered around it. In the middle is one name: ‘Chara’.

Chara is an angel, your mother told you. The angel of freedom.

The museum is in front of you now, and your father chuckles quietly and slides the glass doors open. A bored-looking boy with ginger hair is slumped at the desk, smoking. He looks over at you with half-lidded eyes. You wave at him from behind your parents, and he hands you a booklet, mouthing, ‘Have fun, little buddy.’

You nod at him and walk down the hall, staring open-mouthed and bewildered at the art around you. A boy in a hoodie is stood lazily staring at a photo of a skeleton with glowing eyes; a taller boy in a red scarf is gushing and blushing beside a statue of a tall ravenette in pink heels; a feisty girl with fire-red hair is trying to mimic the pose of a warrior’s portrait, all the while screaming to her small blond friend. You giggle and turn to the statue beside you.

It is a tall golden flower, just like the ones on your handkerchief, with a red cartoon-y heart tangled in it’s leaves. Red is dripping down the stem, and you quickly read the epitaph.

You can’t make out any of the words, apart from one: ‘DETERMINATION’.

The world is suddenly dark, and you scramble to hold something. You hear deep mumbles and thudding footsteps from around the corner, before suddenly the voice is silenced and there’s nothing but your own heartbeat.

“Ma? Pa?” you yell, voice raspy. Upon scanning the room, you see that the others have disappeared - and shiver to realise that the paintings are staring at you.

The white-haired boy, the flower-crowned child, and the blue-eyed skeleton; they’re all watching you, and you swear you feel their breath on your neck when you turn around.

A door is right beside you. You don’t remember it being there before. You grab the handle, and twist it.

A voice whispers in your ear, mixed with static and screeching.

“C…ME...BE...OW…SH...SOM...PL...ACE...SE...CRET…”

You try and scream, but suddenly you’re falling, drowning, your lungs filled with paint. A face stares down at you, eyes soft and skin cracked like porcelain.

A hand comes to touch your cheek. The palm is missing, and you feel blood run down to your neck.

“Come below, Chara…” it repeats, softer this time. “We’ll show you someplace secret.”

The ground comes closer.

The world turns black.


	2. T H I E F !

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh! Are you alright?”
> 
> You rub your head.
> 
> “I think you may have fell. You aren’t supposed to be here.”
> 
> Your eyes won’t open, even though you’re asking them to. You feel your lips move.
> 
> “What’s your name? Chara? That’s a nice name! My name is-”

“Oh! Are you alright?”

You rub your head.

“I think you may have fell. You aren’t supposed to be here.”

Your eyes won’t open, even though you’re asking them to. You feel your lips move.

“What’s your name? Chara? That’s a nice name! My name is-”

=  
=

Your eyes snap open.

Your head is throbbing and your mouth is dry. The ceiling above you is dotted with shimmering stars.

You blink, and realise that they’re just shiny rocks. How silly of you.

There are two big doors either side of you. You force yourself to your feet and dust off your shirt before looking.

One is a soft purple, and engraved with a strange symbol. The other, to your left, is cold and blue with an eye engraved into the handle. The eye’s pupil is missing, and replaced by a keyhole.

You turn to your right and grasp at the door’s knob. It comes off in your hand, and the door opens. You realise that the knob isn’t a knob at all - it’s a bright red gem in the shape of a heart.

It throbs in your hand and when you try to pull it away, you find it isn’t there anymore. Instead, it’s on your chest, right where your heart is. You try and pull at it, but instead just chip it.

A stab of pain runs through you.

Your eyes widen and you grip it protectively. You feel horrible.

“H-Howd-owd-owdy…”

Cracking comes through the door. You peer inside, and see a flower statue. It seems to be spinning on its stem. Its face is barely held in a grin. Its jaw cracks and crumbles a little more, and behind its clay jaws you can make out the shine of a key.

A key, you repeat, looking at the cold door.

You step closer, and the flower recites something to you in its mangled english. It sits still, an almost eerily cheerful grin on its face as you reach to its jaws…

CRUNCH.

 

You hold back a scream as it bites down hard on your hand, its eyes twisting up to look at you. It’s almost pitiful. It seems to be smiling at you, like a child.

 

You grab its jaw with your other hand and rip it down, not even pausing to watch it shatter into dust as you twist on your heel and run down the hall. Vines are rushing out of the door, the flower’s head inflated and filled with horrific knife-like teeth and sunken eyes, teeth dripping with your blood. Where its jaw was is just a hole, and it looks like it’s bleeding a horrible grey syrup-y liquid.

 

The Thing is crawling on the walls, the ceiling, coming closer, closer. It bites at your ankles and barely misses; it swipes for your neck and instead tugs clumps of your hair out. You feel the back of your head, and wince when your own warm blood runs through your fingers in thin dribbles. “THIEF!” it screams, voice mangled. “THIEF! THIEF! THIIIIEEEEFFFF!”

 

You thrust the key into the keyhole and tug the door open, leaping inside and shutting it before the Thing can catch you. It screeches like you imagine a demon would, and you can hear its clay bones cracking and joints crunching as it slams repeatedly against the door.

 

“I-In this w-wor-orld…” a child’s voice comes through the door, raspy and broken. “It’s k-kill or BE k-kill-illed…”

 

The ground shakes as it returns to its podium, and you can faintly hear shrill singing and terrifying laughter. You let out a breath you forgot you were holding, and look down at your chest.

 

Your soul has a line of tiny, almost unnoticeable chips in one corner. You check your hand, and realise that it’s the exact pattern of the bite that the Thing’s teeth had left.

 

You continue on your journey, a bit shaken, and nearly trip right over a large pile of clay - but, when you look closer, it’s not clay at all. A boy is lay there, a tiny bit taller than you. His skin is blue-white - you’re not sure if that’s from the cold, or just him.

 

You put a hand on his shoulder, and jostle him gently. He lets out a sound you’d assume was an attempt at screaming, though it’s too faint and weak that you’re not sure.

 

“s-stop… p-please…” his voice is shaky. “h-hurts…”

 

Pausing for a moment, you move to rub his shoulder soothingly. He actually screams this time, and you jam your hand in his mouth to shut him up before the Thing hears him. You wince, and realise that he’s bitten you. Your soul chips a little more. You pull away, startled, and blood dribbles down his lip. You aren’t sure if it’s yours or his.

“Sorry!” you mumble, and convince yourself that he’d return it if he weren’t whimpering and shivering.

 

The room is startlingly cold, and you look at his chest. His ‘soul’ is covered in cracks. It makes you sad.

 

Something whispers in your mind.

 

"Don’t be afraid. You have what They don’t - DETERMINATION!"

 

Your soul pushes off your chest, and clicks against his. They swirl in what looks like glittery green paint, and you gasp as you’re winded, suddenly on your knees, tired, very tired.

 

Your soul sticks back to your chest, and you wrap your fingers around it, to shield it from harm. The boy sits up, his eyes flaring with rage - and confusion, and fear.

 

“...k-kid…?”

 

His gentle, muffled voice sounded oddly familiar.

 

You kept your eyes on his as you drifted to sleep.

 

=  
=

 

Watching yourself save another… it fills you with DETERMINATION!

Game Saved. HP Fully Restored.


End file.
